Karma’s Kiss

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

The last few weeks of school are a blur of tests, projects, grades, end-of-year class parties, and preparations for Italy. All’s quiet on the Noah front, but I know better than to get comfortable. Though we cross paths in the hall and shoot silent insults across the teachers’ lounge, his absence is unnerving. I’m on edge, constantly waiting for his next round of psychological warfare.

I can only assume he’s using his time the same way I am: strategizing and preparing. After school one night, I’m perusing the self-help aisles, an area of the bookstore I don’t normally frequent. I grab a copy of 10 Ways to Deal with Difficult People , then, after skimming it and finding its advice deeply lacking, I place it back on the shelf. Noah is not your average supervillain. “Radiating kindness” and “using clear and concise communication” will not help me here. I need to know how to set trip wires with dental floss, how to whittle my lip liner down to a shank in fifteen seconds flat, how to survive on a diet of spite for twenty-one days straight.

Opting for a different approach, I try therapy.

After listening to my rant about Noah, the nice woman in khakis sighs.

“Ma’am, this is a Bed Bath & Beyond.”

“And every time he takes a sip of his coffee, he lets out a self-satisfied Ahhh . After every swallow, it’s the same. Sip— ahhh . Sip— ahhh . I swear I can hear it when I close my eyes at night.”

“We’re really not supposed to let people lie down on the display beds.”

I count down the days leading up to the trip like a soldier preparing to go to war. I kiss my loved ones goodbye. I promise to buy my dad a souvenir coffee cup. I give my neighbor my succulent to tend while I’m away and worry that she’ll forget. I’ve kept it alive for three years, I tell her, and she swears she’ll do her best.

When my Uber pulls up to the airport on the day of the trip, Noah is already waiting outside on the curb with a sturdy black suitcase and a medium-sized backpack. I immediately curse myself for overpacking.

“We’re only going for a few weeks,” he admonishes when he sees me dragging my two suitcases and overstuffed carry-on out of the trunk of the Uber. “And there’s a laundry service at the school.”

“Good afternoon, Noah. I am doing well, thank you. What a glorious day for flying!”

“I like your fanny pack.”

“It’s a money belt. For security purposes.”

“Where did you find it? Looks top of the line.”

I know exactly where I found it, but he doesn’t need to know I ordered it from the Brookstone catalog weeks ago. I actually ordered two designs that were slightly different so I could compare the features and pick the best one.

“Some place in the mall.” I make it sound like it just fell into my lap. This old thing?

A seventy-year-old man walks past, wearing the same money belt. He nods at me like we’re in the same club.

Noah smiles like a devil.

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